The Immensely Cruel

The grudge began with a push. A shove in the back. I had time to take a half step and then I was gone, out, off into the great beyond. Time slowed as the heavens rushed by. It happened so fast and I suppose it ended just as fast, though it seemed to take ages as down, down, down I fell, no longer held to anything, nor by anyone. For the first time in my life I was on my own completely. My safe construction-lot-world of bulldozers and dump trucks was no longer, and it crossed my mind as I landed on the grass outside the sandbox that I had called John Garland a poop-head. His high-piecing laughter rained down on me as I lay there all so completely alone on the grass. I believe I was in shock at the sudden realization of how immensely cruel the world could be; how filled to the brim with poop-heads it really and truly and actually was. I knew I was going to get John Garland back— maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but there was no doubt in my mind that he had messed with the wrong boy this time!

And then I cried like bloody murder.

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